


Nine

by Morsmordre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Post Season 8, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:03:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morsmordre/pseuds/Morsmordre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is set right after season eight's finale - I wrote it before season nine, so it's completely different to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WaywardFangirl22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardFangirl22/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Apple Pie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/844683) by [Morsmordre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morsmordre/pseuds/Morsmordre). 



> I am gifting this to WaywardFangirl22. You said very nice things about my writing and read the three fics from the Domestic!verse, which I know doesn't seem like much but it really meant a lot to me! So thanks for that :)

The night the angels fell, Dean had been the caretaker once again. Cas had stumbled out of the woods nearby with wide eyes and a tear-streaked face, staggering over to where the brothers were crouched by the impala. Dean had bundled Sam into the car without a word and opened the door for Cas to get in. 

The drive was fast and quiet, Cas staring out the window at the blazing sky, Sam unconscious. Dean had no idea what to do. Who could help Sam? Who could he take him to? Cas said he was too messed up even for him to fix, and that was before this mess. Dean looked in the rear view mirror and saw him fast asleep, shivering and sweating at the same time. Sleep was first on the agenda for the two in the back, meanwhile, Dean would scour the internet and the bunker's library for something, anything that could help.

They were close to the bunker now, and Dean wiped his eyes, trying not to cry. They would get through this. They always got through everything. Sam would be okay. He'd be fine. They'd fix him. Cas would get used to whatever he had to get used to. He’d get his wings back, maybe. They'd find help for Sam. Sam would be okay.

Everything was going to be fine.

The car came to a halt and Dean ran his hand through his hair once, taking a deep breath before getting out and rushing to Sam's side. He picked him up with great difficulty and two tries and kicked the car door closed, wincing inwardly. Had to be done. 

He rushed over to the bunker doors as soon as he could, hoping to God he wouldn't drop his giant of a brother. Cas appeared out of nowhere (but not literally - he probably couldn’t do that anymore), and opened the door for him. How the heck was Sam even this heavy?

The first couch he saw, he lay his little (ha) brother down, who was still sleeping, shivering and burning up. What was he supposed to do? What was anyone supposed to do?

"Cas, you... you go to sleep in... in my room or whatever. I'll... I'll be here," he muttered, strugging to breathe properly as he fought the tears that threatened to spill. He couldn't afford to cry, not now. He wanted to hate Cas for messing up again. Making another mess to clean up, as if their plates weren't full enough already with Sam and Crowley... Crowley. They'd forgotten about him. Dammit! He was trapped for now, but how long would it be before one of his lackeys came for him?

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and impulsively kicked over a coffee table, sending empty glasses flying. 

"We'll... we'll fix it, Dean," a hoarse voice came from behind him, as if unused. Cas. His voice sounded a little different from usual, but he supposed that's what happened if you'd had an entire species-transplant.

"It'll be okay."

Dean turned around to face the fallen angel, wiping away the tears that had pushed through. He wanted to hate him... but he couldn't. Cas would always be his friend, his family. He couldn't hate him. Cas needed to be looked after now too.

He nodded and attempted a reassuring smile, losing every chance of having effect thanks to his quivering lips and watery eyes.

Sam was still dead to the world, and Cas just stood there, staring with wide eyes. He looked terrified. The last time Dean saw him look like that, they were at a brothel. It felt like a millennia ago. The circumstances were so different now it was almost laughable, and Dean found himself strangely missing the Apocalypse.

"You... you go and sleep, okay? We'll get you and the rest of the God-squad back up there after Sammy’s okay," he said, turning around and heading to the library, but he heard Cas follow.

There were already books out from the reading they'd been doing for the trials, though they hadn't been too helpful. Maybe he'd have more luck this time. In the morning, if Sam was lucid and feeling better, they'd go and see if Crowley had stayed put. If not... well, maybe they'd have to risk the hospital. Just in case. 

He slid into a chair and flipped open a book, rubbing the last of the tears from his eyes and cursing himself for being so tired already. He saw Cas sit down next to him from the corner of his eye.

The book in front of him was the journal of Father Max Thompson, the priest who'd tried to cure those demons on the tapes. He'd kept a few of his theories and ideas written down, along with references to the many books he'd read. It would probably be a lot more useful if he didn't write like he was smashed, if all the pages were in it, and if it wasn't fifty-five years old. 

Dean banged his fist on the table in frustration. Why couldn't things go right for them? Why couldn't they have lived a normal life without all of this crap? Why did people have to die? 

But no, he had to suck it up. He wasn't a whiny teenager, he was a Winchester. It was up to him to sort everything out.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped, looking up at Cas.

"You can't do this now, Dean," he said, brow furrowed.

"To hell I can't," he muttered, shrugging the hand away. He squinted at the pages, but he found himself re-reading the same sentence three times and still not understanding it.

"You can't help Sam without rest. You'll be no good to him," the other man said firmly, hesitating before dragging the book slowly closer to him across the table. 

Dean sighed, closing his eyes. Cas was right. He couldn't help Sam. Not like this, at least. All he needed was a couple of hours, and he'd be perfectly fine to get right back to work. He would help Sam. His little brother was going to be fine.

"I just need a few hours," he muttered, getting up with a sigh. 

"I'll watch over you," Cas answered, standing up too. Dean looked at him sadly, wondering if Cas knew he'd have to sleep too. Probably. He'd been human before, in a way.

"You need to sleep too," he said, walking to the room where Sam was and gesturing his friend to follow. 

Sam was still fast asleep, and he didn't look like he was sweating so much anymore. He looked ill, and it killed Dean to see his baby brother looking like this, but at the same time, in his sleep he looked content. Dean brushed the damp hair from his face, fighting his urge to throw up from worry.

"Come on, Dean," Cas said patiently, and he felt a hand around his wrist. 

They walked to Dean's room in silence, Dean vaguely registering that Cas had never let him go. He made sure to set his alarm on for early in the morning.

They didn't say anything when Cas took off his coat, suit jacket and shoes and slid into Dean's bed. Nothing was said when Dean got in next to him, lying close just for the comfort. It wasn't romantic when Cas held him and stroked his hair, whispering about how it was all going to be fine.

If Dean cried a little into his angel's shoulder, it was nothing to be ashamed of. He knew that on a normal day, he'd have pushed Cas away and told him not to be such a girl. But with his head filled with swirling thoughts about Sammy and the angels, he found he didn't care this time around. The last time he'd been held like this was by Lisa, when the nightmare about torturing Sam in Hell had shaken him awake.

Things had turned out fine then too, he reminded himself as sleep slowly dragged him under, fingers still carding through his hair and murmurs of assurance still breaking the silence.


End file.
